Work Text:
The alarm was the worst part. Not the frigid cold sinking into her bones, not the tubes in her arms, not even knowing this might be her last conscious moment. It was that shrill mechanical screaming cutting through the lab's silence, so much like the coffee shop timer that had marked her shifts at Gotham University, back when everything had still been possible.
Nora Fries lay in the cryogenic chamber Victor had built, her body too weak to move, speech reduced now to nothing but whispers. But her mind was still clear, trapped inside what Huntington's had made of her. The preservation chamber hummed around her: Victor's desperate love translated into cold steel and liquid nitrogen.
"I'm going to save you, Nora," his voice came from above, sounding broken but still fierce. "I'm going to stop time itself until I can bring you back."
She tried to answer. Her lips barely moved. She wanted to tell him thank you. Or don't. Or I'm scared. But no sound came out. Her vision blurred. The glass fogged, and Victor's silhouette faded.
The alarm shrieked again, and suddenly, she was twenty-one again, pulling a double shift at The Daily Grind, the coffee shop tucked between the library and chemistry building at Gotham University, her back aching, timer beeping, steam hissing from the milk frother.
Back when the world was warm.
Back when everything still had time…
The cold October rain nearly turned Nora numb as she hurried across the quad, the downpour hitting Gotham like a cold slap, turning the campus walkways into rivers of grey slush.
Nora Fields ran as fast as she could, her bag clutched tight against her chest, dodging puddles and other equally drenched students as she rushed toward The Daily Grind. She was already fifteen minutes late for her shift, and her manager Joe had made it clear that her lateness was becoming more and more noticeable these days.
Her dance theory class had run over (again), and then Professor Dalea had cornered her afterwards to discuss her "declining participation" in class discussions. It was hard to participate when you were fighting to keep your left hand from twitching like a glitching marionette puppet, but she couldn't exactly explain that.
She burst through the door of The Daily Grind, ducking her head as the bell above the door jingled with a slightly guilty motion. Warmth rushed to meet her, thick with the scent of espresso, damp wool, and burnt scones. She shook the rain from her hair and tried not to drip on the floor.
The shop was already packed with their usual crowd: students cramming for midterms, glued to their laptops. Professors grading papers with red pens and dead eyes. One graduate student had claimed his corner table, the same spot he'd occupied for six months running, his nose buried in a math textbook as he muttered to himself. Steam hissed from the milk frother. Coffee beans ground with a slow rumble. The smell of pumpkin syrup hung everywhere, like the whole place was trying too hard to feel festive for Halloween next weekend.
"Sorry, Joe," Nora called out, hurrying toward the employee area behind the counter where Joe was already pulling shots. Her manager's weathered face showed more amusement than irritation. The older man had been managing The Daily Grind for as long as anyone could remember, and his laid-back attitude toward student employees was practically legendary on campus.
His tone was gruff when he spoke, but there was no heat in it as he looked up at Nora and met her gaze.
"You're late, kid. I was starting to think you weren't coming in today."
She winced. "Dance theory ran late, and then Professor Dalea wanted to—"
"Hey, hey." Joe held up a hand, grinning. "I didn't say I was complaining. Just observing. You look like you swam here instead of walking." He tossed her a clean towel. "Take a minute to dry off and get your apron on. Grab some coffee and make yourself look presentable. We've got customers, but nothing we can't handle."
Nora nodded, grateful for Joe's understanding as she peeled off her rain-soaked coat and grabbed her apron. He'd hired her two years ago when she desperately needed the work-study money, and he'd never once made her feel like just another broke student. Even now, there was something almost paternal in the way he looked out for his employees, though he hid it behind gruff humor and the classic rock always playing from the speakers.
"Medium coffee, extra shot, no sugar," she called out fifteen minutes later, sliding the cup across the pick-up counter to a bleary-eyed pre-med student who looked like he hadn't slept since freshman year.
He nodded his thanks without making eye contact, already fumbling for his laptop as he shuffled toward the back. Nora watched him go, then glanced out the fogged-up window.
October in Gotham had settled in like a cold judgment. The first real cold snap of the season. Steam rose from every cup as students wrapped their hands around the warmth before trudging back to the library. The coffee shop hummed with quiet desperation: the sound of studying for midterms, over-caffeination, and people pretending not to panic.
Nora had been working at The Grind for two years now, ever since her partial scholarship for the dance program had proven woefully insufficient for Gotham's brutal cost of living. The job wasn't glamorous, but combined with her student loans, it paid enough to keep her in the dorms and fed. The location between campus buildings was perfect; she could grab shifts between her classes without much travel time.
At twenty-one, Nora moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd learned to make every move count. Dance training did that: taught you to waste nothing, to find grace even in mundane tasks like operating an espresso machine or restocking pastry cases. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a practical low ponytail, and she wore the Grind's regulation black polo with black pants, and comfortable shoes that could handle five to eight hour shifts on concrete floors.
Once the morning rush ended, Nora's shift crawled by. She kept busy brewing fresh coffee and washing the last few dishes, fighting to stay awake. Her third cup of coffee wasn't helping much. Working three weeks straight to pay for next semester was taking its toll.
She was reaching for a blueberry muffin from the display case to eat over her break when the bell chimed. A young man walked through the door, and she noticed him immediately. Partly because he was new, partly because he looked completely out of place. Tall and thin, with dark hair that needed cutting and wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. He wore a tweed jacket over a button-down shirt and clutched a brown leather messenger bag like it held state secrets. He approached the counter with the careful hesitation of someone more familiar with laboratories than coffee shops.
"Good afternoon," Nora said warmly, offering her standard customer service smile. "What can I get you?"
He blinked behind his glasses, clearly startled by the direct attention. "Oh, uh, good afternoon," he stammered awkwardly, with the polite uncertainty that suggested he wasn't quite sure if he was interrupting something important. "I was hoping... well, I wondered if I might trouble you for a cup of coffee. Which, yes, I realize is rather obvious, considering…this is a coffee shop." He winced and offered Nora a small, sheepish smile as an odd flush came over his cheeks. "Sorry. I tend to narrate my own awkwardness when I'm nervous. It's a gift." He flicked his gaze up to the chalkboard menu on the wall behind Nora, his brow furrowed in quiet defeat. "I'm afraid I'm not particularly fluent in…coffee. If you have a suggestion that won't taste like regret, I'd be grateful."
Nora bit back a grin. There was something absolutely charming about how flustered he was, the way he spoke like he was giving a presentation instead of just ordering coffee. She caught the hint of an accent. German, maybe? Though it had clearly softened after years of living here in Gotham.
"We've got plenty of coffee," she said, letting her amusement show in her voice, unable to keep the playful note out. "What are you in the mood for? Something straightforward, or do you want to live dangerously?"
"Straightforward sounds ideal, actually. I'm rather a creature of habit when it comes to coffee, I'm afraid." He pushed his glasses up his nose (a nervous gesture she was already finding endearing). "Perhaps something with enough caffeine to sustain me through the next several hours? I have quite a bit of research to catch up on."
"Burning the midnight oil?" she asked, biting her lip as she tilted her head slightly. Something about his formal, earnest way of speaking made her want to tease him just a little, in the gentlest way possible, of course.
"You could say that," he said with a faint smile. "Several long nights ahead, I'm afraid. Thesis research waits for no one, least of all someone with a knack for falling behind." He paused, then added in his usual dry tone, "Though I suppose that's what graduate school is for: seeing how long you can survive on questionable coffee and no sleep before things start to go pear-shaped."
Nora started preparing a large coffee, dark roast. "What are you studying?"
"Biochemistry, with a focus on cellular preservation and cryogenic applications," he said with a mild, almost apologetic smile. "Terribly exciting stuff, I'm sure." The irony in his tone was subtle but intentional. He straightened a little as he went on, his voice taking on a quiet steadiness. "I'm researching ways to prevent cellular damage during long-term freezing, potential uses in transplant medicine, research storage…that sort of thing."
"Actually sounds pretty important. Saving lives and all that."
He blinked, clearly caught off guard by Nora's genuine interest. "You really think so? Most people's eyes glaze over whenever I mention cellular preservation."
Nora smiled. "Well, I'm not most people." She slid his coffee across the counter. "Anything else? Pastry, maybe? We've got some decent ones if you're settling in for a long night, you'll need something to keep you conscious."
"Oh, yes, that's probably wise." He stepped closer to the display case, peering through the glass with undue seriousness. "I'm rather hopeless at decisions like this. What would you recommend?"
"The blueberry muffins are good. Made fresh this morning, and they're substantial enough to count as actual food. Vaguely nutritious."
"Vaguely nutritious sounds ideal." He smiled again, almost shyly. "Thank you for the guidance. I never quite manage these things gracefully." He fumbled for his wallet, slow and deliberate. "I'm Victor, by the way. Victor Fries."
"Nora Fields. Nice to meet you, Victor."
"Likewise." He handed her a crumpled ten-dollar bill. "Please, keep the change for your patience with my tragically methodical approach to baked goods." A wry smile tugged at his lips.
Nora couldn't help but smile back. "You weren't tragic. Just charmingly overthought."
"You're very kind to say so." Victor hesitated, clearly wanting to say something else but unsure how. The fingers of his free hand not clutching his coffee to go and pastry bag tightened around the strap of his bag. "I don't suppose... that is, would it be terribly presumptuous to ask what you're studying?"
"Dance." She paused, then amended, "Well. Was studying dance." The bitterness crept into her voice.
Something flickered across his expression: concern, maybe, or understanding. The look of someone who'd learned to read subtle signs of distress. "I hope you're well?" he asked gently. "Forgive me if that's too forward."
"No, no, it's fine. I'm managing," she said, too quickly, the word coming out more clipped than she intended, and she flinched. "Well, I should get back to work. Your coffee should help with the research. Good luck with your thesis."
He nodded. "Thank you. For the coffee, and the conversation." He gathered his things and began to head toward the door, though he paused to glance back at her, suddenly looking hopeful. "Perhaps…I'll see you again? I have a feeling I'll need…quite a lot of caffeine."
Nora smiled shyly. "I'm here every day except weekends."
"Except weekends." He nodded, more to himself than to her. "Dangerously convenient." He offered a small wave and stepped out into the storm, hunching slightly against the rain. He'd barely gone three steps before glancing back through the window, just in time to walk headlong into a lamp post with a hollow thunk. Coffee jolted. So did he.
Nora let out a laugh (quiet, involuntary). She turned away before he could see it, yet turned her head slightly to eye him from the corner of her lowered gaze. Victor straightened quickly, clearly hoping no one had seen. One last mortified glance toward the shop, and then he vanished into the gray blur, shoulders hunched, coat flapping in the wind.
Behind the counter, she reached for the next cup. Her fingers hovered just a moment too long over the Sharpie.
Nora watched the rain streak down the window long after he vanished, the ghost of a smile still tugging at her mouth. She didn't know why Victor Fries lingered in her mind, only that something about the soft, gentle way he spoke, the way he looked back, had settled under her skin like the hush before a song.
She turned back to the counter, wiping down the already-clean surface with slow, absent strokes. Outside, the storm blurred the campus into a watercolor of gray and gold. She told herself it was silly to wonder if he'd come back, that men who asked gentle questions and looked at you like that rarely did.
Still, Nora caught herself glancing at the door more than once just before closing time, just in case.
To Nora's surprise and delight, Victor returned the next afternoon, and the afternoon after that. By the end of the week, she had his order memorized: large coffee, dark roast, blueberry muffins when they had them, banana nut when they didn't. He always ordered with the same careful politeness, always left her generous tips, and always managed to look mildly amazed that she remembered his preferences.
"The usual?" she asked on his sixth visit, already reaching for a large cup as she watched Victor walk through the door.
"You remember." He looked genuinely touched, as if her remembering his coffee order were some extraordinary gesture. "That's rather wonderful of you."
Nora's blue eyes twinkled as she began preparing his usual order. "Large coffee, dark roast, blueberry muffin. Not exactly quantum physics."
He chuckled and ran a fast hand through his hair. "Perhaps not," he murmured. "But it's still thoughtful." Nora couldn't help but notice that Victor was getting more comfortable around her the more he visited, though he still spoke with that quiet, formal way of speaking that made even mundane conversations sound important. "How has your day been?"
Nora shrugged. "Can't complain. Midterms are keeping everyone caffeinated, so business is good." She started on his coffee, muscle memory kicking in. "How's your research going?"
"Slowly but surely." A familiar line, but his eyes lit up a little when he spoke. "I'm studying the way ice crystals form during cryogenic freezing: how they damage cells, and how to stop that damage before it starts." Victor paused, then added with a small, self-conscious smile, "I imagine that sounds dreadfully dry."
Nora shook her head. "Not really. It sounds like you're trying to figure out how to freeze people without killing them."
He nearly dropped his coffee. "I... well, that's a rather…dramatic summary, but not entirely wrong. Though to be clear, I'm working with tissue samples and organs, not entire people. That's still the stuff of science fiction."
But Nora could hear it in his voice: a note of quiet curiosity, like the idea wasn't entirely out of the question.
"For now, maybe," Nora said, handing him the best muffin out of the day's batch. "But stranger things have happened. Especially in Gotham."
"Too true," he agreed, voice dry. "This city does seem to attract the unusual."
Victor said it with a rueful sort of amusement, but something in the way he looked at her then (curious, warm, slightly hesitant) lingered longer than the words did. Nora wasn't sure exactly what she was expecting, only that she didn't want the conversation to end just yet.
But he only gave a polite nod, thanked her again, and stepped back out into the ever-persistent rain of Gotham.
They fell into an easy routine after that over the following weeks. Victor would arrive every afternoon around three, order the same thing, and linger at the counter if it wasn't busy. Their conversation topics ranged from his research to her classes to the peculiarities of Gotham University's sprawling campus. Nora learned that he was twenty-nine, originally from Germany, born in Munich, though he rarely spoke about it to her. His parents had been simple folk. His father had worked in refrigeration repair; his mother ran a market stall selling cured meats and preserves. They were plain folk, practical to the core, and Victor had inherited that practicality but also something much more precise, more curious. He learned early how to fix things, to listen carefully, to stay quiet in rooms where louder men thrived. His accent had softened over time, but his manners hadn't: polite, cautious, deliberate. The sort of man who always put his coffee cup exactly on the napkin, never beside it.
Nora learned that Victor had been working on his PhD for the last three years, and lived in a tiny apartment off-campus because he found the dormitories too noisy for serious study.
Victor learned that Nora was a junior, had grown up in Gotham's East End, and was majoring in dance with a minor in education. But what he didn't learn (what she carefully avoided mentioning) was why she'd switched from performance track to education track halfway through her sophomore year, or why she sometimes gripped the counter when she thought no one was looking.
But Victor never asked. And Nora never offered. Still, something unspoken passed between them in those quiet moments, something that neither of them had found the words for yet.
It was during the third week of their acquaintance that things between them changed.
Nora was restocking the pastry case when she felt it: the familiar tremor starting in her left hand. She'd been hoping the stress of midterms was just making her notice it more, but there was no denying what was happening. Her hand shook as she tried to place a scone on the display shelf, the tremor subtle but unmistakable.
"No, no please," she whispered, setting the scone down and pressing her hand against her thigh, willing it desperately to stop before anyone saw.
"Nora? Are you alright?"
Nora startled, turning to find Victor standing at the counter, concern clear in his expression. He was early today, and she hadn't heard him come in.
"Oh, I... I'm fine, Victor," she stammered. "Just…tired. Long shift, you know how it is." The laugh she let out was thin and forced as she quickly turned away and moved to the coffee machine to start his usual order, suddenly wishing a hole in the floor beneath her would open up and swallow her whole.
Victor, thankfully, didn't press. But he didn't look away, either. She could feel his eyes on her (steady, unblinking) as she turned to prepare his coffee. The weight of his attention made her skin prickle. She focused hard on the task at hand, refusing to meet his gaze, as if eye contact might crack her open.
"Forgive me if this is presumptuous," he said softly, "but that didn't look like fatigue."
Nora hesitated, eyes fixed on the espresso buttons. "It's..." Her throat tightened. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
"Nora." His voice was gentle but firm. "I spend my days studying cellular degeneration and neurodegenerative pathology. I've come to recognize the signs, subtle though they may be."
The words struck her like a blow. She'd worked so hard to hide it. So carefully. And yet...
"I…I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered quickly, but even she could hear the hollowness in her voice, how her voice lacked the conviction to sell the argument she really wanted to make.
Victor glanced around the café. There were two students in right now, absorbed in their books, then leaned just slightly toward the counter.
"Is it Huntington's?" he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper.
Nora froze, feeling all the color drain from her face. "How did you..."
"The tremor pattern. The way you hold your left side, how you compensate without realizing. And…" He hesitated. "You mentioned your mother, once. Just in passing. I shouldn't have made the connection ahead. That was…unkind of me."
Nora stared at him, lips parted slightly in disbelief. She felt raw and exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn't experienced since her diagnosis. "You can't know that from watching someone pour your coffee."
"You're right. I can't." He nodded slowly, his voice even. "But I can draw conclusions from what I see. Tentative ones. I'd never assume more than that. How long have you known?"
Nora was quiet for a long moment, weighing her options. She could try to deny it, make some excuse, and hope he'd drop the subject and leave it alone. Or should trust the quiet compassion she'd seen in Victor Fries over these past few weeks and decide to trust him.
She looked down at the espresso machine, then past it, toward nothing, struggling to find her voice.
"Six months," she said at last. "Officially, anyway. Probably longer before that."
Victor's expression softened, and for a moment, he looked older than he actually was. "I'm so sorry, Nora. That must be frightening."
"It is what it is." She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but she couldn't quite keep the edge from her voice. "Genetic lottery. My mother had it. She died when I was sixteen."
He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Is that why you changed your program?"
"You noticed?"
He offered a faint smile. "I pay attention. Especially to things people are careful not to say."
A silence stretched between them. Then, carefully:
"There are treatments. Not cures, not yet. But therapies that can slow progression. Clinical trials. Research grants. Depending on your genotype..." He trailed off, sensing he was saying too much too fast. "Sorry. That wasn't meant to be presumptuous."
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't afford it anyway. Not on this job and a half-scholarship."
Victor was quiet a moment, then said, almost cautiously, "What if cost weren't a factor?"
Her gaze snapped to him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that I might be able to help you, Nora." He held up a hand. "Not in some dramatic way, just my research, my department, my advisor's connections…There may be options. A trial, maybe. Or just someone to look at your case thoroughly."
Nora stared in disbelief. She could hardly believe it. "Why would you do that? You barely know me."
His expression didn't change, but something in his voice deepened. "Because you treat me like a person, not a curiosity. Because you ask about my work like it matters. And because, if I'm honest..." He hesitated, then continued, "These past few weeks, coming here has become the best part of my day. And I'd rather like to ensure there are many more of them."
The honesty in his words caught her off guard, made her throat tighten. "Victor, you don't understand what you're offering. This isn't a problem you solve with the right experiment. It's not clean like that. This condition..." Her voice cracked, and she could feel her eyes beginning to tear up, though she refused to let them fall. "It doesn't just kill you. It erases you. Slowly."
He nodded. "I know. I've read the studies. I've watched footage I still can't quite forget." A pause. "But maybe, just maybe, we can buy you time. And if we can't…"
"Then what?"
"Then we'll have tried."
Nora looked at him for a long time, not speaking a word. Despite everything in her screaming caution, she found herself believing Victor. Wanting to believe him.
"Okay," she said quietly. "We can try."
The next month blurred together in a haze of medical appointments, research papers, and cautious hope. Victor was as good as his word. He used his advisor's connections to get Nora into clinical trials at Gotham General's research hospital, helped her navigate complicated insurance paperwork, and drove her to appointments when the tremor made it unsafe for her to drive herself.
Their relationship shifted gradually from customer service politeness to genuine friendship to something deeper. Victor was patient in a way that amazed her, never treating her like she was fragile, never making her feel like a burden. When the tremor was bad, he'd quietly help her carry things without making a production of it. When she had good days, he celebrated them with her.
It was during finals week that he finally asked her out, two weeks before Christmas break. She was working a late shift, the coffee shop nearly empty except for a few desperate students and Victor, who'd claimed his usual corner table hours ago. He'd been staring at the same page of research notes for fifteen minutes, stealing glances at the counter when he thought Nora wasn't looking.
Finally, when they were alone, he approached her with the determination of someone about to attempt something terrifying.
"Nora," he began, then stopped, clearly reconsidering even that much. A faint, unmistakable flush crept up his neck. "I was wondering, well, only if you're not otherwise occupied, of course, whether you might consider having dinner with me. At some point. Together." He blinked, then winced slightly. "That is, assuming you'd like to. No obligation whatsoever." He hesitated, clearly mortified now. "I realize that wasn't terribly articulate. I've never been especially adept at… well, this sort of conversation. You have my apologies if I've made it awkward."
Nora stared at him.
Her first instinct was to laugh (not unkindly, just in shock). He looked so seriously, so genuinely unsure, fidgeting with the edge of his pen as if it might anchor him. His sweater was smooth and pressed. His usually tousled dark hair was combed with a little more effort than usual. He'd clearly been thinking about this.
And so had she. She'd imagined this moment a dozen times: while wiping down tables, while filling muffin trays, while watching him linger too long over his coffee. Half of her had hoped for it. The other half had feared it. She could feel her heart pounding stupidly behind her ribs.
"Are…are you asking me on a date, Victor?" she asked, her voice gentler than she meant it to be.
"Yes," he said quickly, then added, "Perhaps. If that's what you'd call it. I'm afraid I'm not…terribly experienced with…this sort of thing."
"I thought you might be." She smiled, small and self-conscious, her eyes flicking down. "Victor, I like you. I like you a lot. But…I need you to understand what you're asking."
"I believe I do."
Nora looked at him for a long moment. "There's no growing old together with me, Victor. My genetic tests came back positive; you know that." Her voice stayed quiet, but something in it trembled. "So if what you're hoping for is…growing old with someone, I'm probably not the right story for you."
Victor was silent for a beat, his brow furrowed, not in confusion or hurt, but in thought. "What if I told you that recent advances in Huntington's research have been remarkable, Nora?" he said softly. "There are therapies now. Real ones. Not theory. Not false hope."
Nora gave a quiet laugh, not unkind. "Victor, you're sounding like a scientist trying to solve something that can't be solved."
"I am a scientist trying to solve a problem, Nora. But that's not why I'm asking you to dinner." He leaned forward slightly. "I'm asking you because in the past month, you've become the most important person in my life. Because you make me want to be better at this: at connecting with people, at caring about something beyond cellular preservation and cooling rates."
"Even knowing what you know?"
"Especially knowing what I know."
She studied his face, seeing the quiet intensity that had drawn her to him from the beginning. "Alright. But somewhere casual. And Victor?"
"Yes?"
"If this goes badly, we're both going to have to pretend it never happened, because I still need this job and you still need your coffee."
His smile was soft and relieved. "Understood. Though I rather suspect it won't go badly."
"Confident," she said, arching a brow.
"Cautiously so." He slipped his hands into his coat pockets, then added, "Hopeful, really."
She held his gaze a moment longer, then looked down at the counter, suddenly aware of how tightly she was gripping the edge.
"Will Thursday night work?" she asked, voice quieter now. "After my shift?"
"Thursday it is." He hesitated, then turned to go, but not before casting one last glance at her over his shoulder.
Nora watched him leave, the door jingling softly behind him. She stood there for a long moment, the scent of dark roast still hanging in the air, her heart beating a little faster than it should've.
She reached for the next cup, then paused, marker in hand, and found herself smiling as she wrote his name.
Victor chose Martinelli's, a small Italian place near campus that had survived decades of student patronage through honest food and generous portions. It was exactly the kind of place Nora felt comfortable in: checked tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and the comfortable chaos of a family business that prioritized flavor over atmosphere.
She'd changed outfits three times before settling on a simple black turtleneck and a warm brown skirt that fell to mid-calf, paired with her best boots. It wasn't flashy, but it made her feel quietly confident. Like herself, but steadier. As she brushed her hair and caught her reflection in the mirror, something shifted. Just a flicker. Like a part of her she thought was gone had returned without asking. Not the sick girl. Not the scholarship kid or the overworked barista. Just Nora. Just a young woman getting ready for dinner with someone she cared about.
Victor was already there when she arrived, looking nervous and handsome in a brown sweater and trousers. He stood when he saw her, nearly knocking over his chair in the process.
"You look beautiful," he said softly, and the sincerity in his voice made her cheeks warm.
"Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
They slipped easily into conversation after placing their orders, sharing a basket of breadsticks and a glass of wine while they waited. They talked about Victor's research, Nora's classes, and the strange quirks of Gotham's campus life. The ease of it surprised her. Like they'd been having dinner together for years, not just trading shy glances over coffee orders.
Nora hesitated, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. She'd been turning the question over in her mind for weeks, unsure how to ask or if she even should. Would it sound like a joke? Or something heavier than she meant? But with Victor sitting across from her now, quiet and attentive in the glow of the candlelight, the moment finally felt safe enough.
"Victor, can I... ask you something?" she said, her voice a little unsure.
The server returned just then with their food, interrupting the moment with the quiet clatter of plates and a polite smile. Nora waited until he was gone, hands folded loosely in her lap.
"That first day you came into the shop," she began again, glancing at him, "you looked completely lost. Like you'd never ordered coffee before in your life."
Victor's cheeks reddened. "Ah. Yes. Well…not far off the mark, I'm afraid. I'd been relying on the vending machine in the chemistry building for the better part of three years." He gave Nora a small, sheepish smile. "My advisor eventually took me aside and suggested I, in his words, 'go where the people are.'"
"So…your advisor sent you out for coffee?"
"Not in so many words. His actual phrasing was that if I didn't start interacting with people outside the lab, I was on track to become a brilliant recluse with no conversational range and a suspicious dependence on synthetic caffeine." He adjusted his glasses with a wry look. "I believe he was trying to be kind about it, but he wasn't wrong."
"So I was part of a social intervention?"
He looked at her carefully. "At first, perhaps. But that changed very quickly." His voice and expression softened. "You were kind to me, Nora. You saw past the awkwardness. And you asked me about my work like you wanted to understand it. I hadn't realized how rare that was…until then."
"Your work does matter, Victor," Nora said softly. "What you're doing could help so many people and save so many lives."
He was quiet a moment, then said, almost thoughtfully: "Could help you. Which makes it even more personal."
The weight of that statement settled between them, making Nora feel slightly uneasy. She parted her lips to speak, but before she could say anything, their server returned with dessert: a single towering slice of chocolate layer cake, glossy with ganache and garnished with curls of dark chocolate. Two forks were placed carefully on either side.
Nora eyed the setup. "We're really doing the one plate, two-forks thing, huh?"
Victor looked briefly stricken. "Should I have asked for a second slice?"
She laughed, the tension breaking. "No, it's fine. Just…intimate, that's all."
"Then I suppose I'll try not to drop it in my lap." He offered her the first fork with a quiet smile.
They took turns nibbling at the cake, the sweetness softening the edges of what had just been said.
After a few moments, Nora set down her fork and reached for her wine.
"Victor, can I ask something of you?"
"Anything."
"Don't lose yourself trying to save me." Her voice was quiet now, but steady. "I've seen what this does. Not just to the person who has it, but to the people who try to hold everything together. It wrecks them too. Just…differently."
Victor nodded slowly. "I can't promise that won't happen, Nora." He looked down at his hands. "I've no illusions about what we might be facing." He met her gaze again, calm and unflinching. "But I can promise I won't walk away from it. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together. And I will fight for you as long as I'm able, Nora. Not because I think I can fix everything, but because you matter to me. Very…very much."
Nora stared at him, her throat tight, every rational part of her still whispering don't hope, don't hope, don't hope.
But hope was already there.
"Okay," she whispered. "But I still want your promise."
Victor's smile was quiet. "Then you have it." He reached across the table, brushing her hand with his fingers, a light but deliberate touch, as if sealing his promise in the silence.
They lingered for a moment longer, neither quite ready to end the evening. When they finally stepped out into the cold after Victor paid their bill, the wind had thankfully softened, carrying with it the faint sound of music and laughter drifting from the direction of the campus.
Victor turned his head slightly, confused. "Do you hear that?"
Nora smiled. "Come on. I'll show you." Without thinking, Nora reached for his hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His fingers curled around hers without hesitation. Warm. Steady. Real. And that's when it hit her, sudden, quiet, and undeniable.
She was falling for Victor Fries.
Not in theory, not someday, but now. In this moment, with his hand in hers and laughter floating in the air like snowflakes.
They walked without talking for a few blocks, just listening to the city around them: cars splashing through the slush, people chatting somewhere in the distance, the wind moving through the buildings overhead. The music grew louder as they got closer to campus, all bells and horns mixed together, and Nora could smell something sweet in the air, like caramel and Christmas trees. Nora was hyperaware of Victor's hand in hers, how his fingers felt warm even through her gloves. He stayed quiet, but when their arms bumped together, he didn't move away.
When they turned the corner onto the quad, suddenly, the quiet was replaced by bright lights.
Gotham University's annual winter carnival, The Big Chill, was happening in full force. They'd strung fairy lights between all the old oak trees, making everything glow soft and golden against the snow. Little booths were set up everywhere: vendors selling hot chocolate and roasted nuts that smelled divine, handmade candles, and some sort of peppermint popcorn that made Nora's mouth water. Students were everywhere, bundled up in their warmest coats and moving from booth to booth, their laughter floating up into the cold night.
It was like any other holiday fair, she supposed, but somehow it felt different from the rest of Gotham. Not as heavy or depressing like the city usually was. Just…nice. Really nice, actually.
"I…I didn't know they did this," Victor remarked softly, glancing around with quiet wonder as they passed a booth where students were decorating gingerbread cookies beneath strands of golden lights.
"First time at The Big Chill? Victor, you really do need to get out of that lab more." Nora couldn't help but tease him a little as she bumped his shoulder playfully, making him blush. "It's been a tradition since before we were born. My roommate dragged me here my freshman year."
Without waiting for Victor to respond, she gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and began to lead the way through the carnival. They strolled through the fair together, sharing a cup of hot chocolate and pausing to watch ice sculptors chip away at glistening blocks in the crisp cold December air. Victor seemed quietly fascinated by everything: the way children ran in circles through the snow, the intricate setup of the hot chocolate bar manned by culinary students, the ring toss game where stuffed animals hung like miniature trophies.
"It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" Victor asked, watching a group of students toss marshmallows into mugs the size of washbasins.
"Overwhelming in a good way, I hope?" Nora teased, looking up at him through her lashes. "Like a sugar-fueled dream you actually want to be part of."
Victor smiled, a little bemused. "Back home, we didn't have anything like this at the university I attended, before I came here to Gotham. There were just…lectures. And snow."
"Sounds festive."
"We were told the snow was character-building." Victor glanced around again, eyes lingering on the booths. "But this is…nicer."
They wandered through the fair with no particular destination, passing their shared cup of hot chocolate between them as they drifted past booths draped in string lights and pine garlands. The air carried the warm scent of sugar and cinnamon threading through woodsmoke, and Nora watched Victor's eyes dart from stall to stall, cataloguing every detail as if the whole scene might evaporate if he stopped paying attention.
At the ice sculpting station, he went still. A student was working on a frozen angel, her chisel moving in careful strokes as she carved delicate feathers into translucent wings. Victor crouched slightly to get a better angle, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid cold air.
"That's astonishing, the level of control. It's like microsurgery."
"You're allowed to just say it's pretty, you know," Nora teased, nudging his arm.
"Oh, it is. But the precision…" He trailed off, smiling sheepishly. "I admire that sort of craftsmanship."
They moved on then, weaving past a quartet of carolers and a booth where English majors in hand-knit scarves pecked out custom poems on vintage typewriters. Nora noticed Victor's pace slowing again, not for the poetry this time, but for a game booth trimmed in colorful blinking lights and cherry-red paint. His attention snagged on the row of plastic water guns mounted on the counter, each aimed at a small target that would fill balloons hanging above. Stuffed animals dangled from the backboard: bears and owls and rabbits suspended like trophies from some gentler war.
Nora followed his gaze to a small white polar bear wearing a knitted blue scarf.
"You're staring," she said, keeping her voice light.
Victor startled, color rising in his cheeks as he looked away, embarrassed. "Ah. Yes. It's nothing, I just... never mind."
"No, no," Nora teased, catching his elbow and steering them closer to the booth. "That was a solid five seconds of polar-bear-related longing."
He let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "I was merely curious about the probability of success."
"Mmm. Sure, you were."
Then, from behind the booth: "Care to try your luck?" the student manning the water gun game called out, grinning, having spotted Victor's obvious fascination. "Pop three balloons for two dollars; win your lady a prize."
"Oh no, that's alright," Victor said quickly, but Nora was already digging in her purse.
"Come on, scientist. Let's see if all that precision lab work of yours translates to carnival games." She handed over two dollars before he could protest.
"Nora, I should warn you, I'm not particularly skilled at..."
"Just pick up the water gun, Victor."
The game was simple enough: aim the stream of water at a target to fill a balloon until it popped. Victor lifted the plastic pistol with the same methodical care Nora imagined he brought to his laboratory work. She watched, mesmerized, as the first balloon swelled and popped within seconds. Then the second. By the third shot, a small crowd had gathered to watch, and Victor's cheeks were pink with embarrassment and concentration. His aim was unnervingly perfect; each stream of water hitting dead center, each balloon exploding right on schedule.
"Well, I'll be damned," the booth operator laughed, eyeing Victor with new respect and perhaps even a hint of unease. "Haven't seen shooting like that all night. Take your pick off the top shelf, buddy."
Victor looked helplessly at the array of stuffed animals, clearly overwhelmed by choice. Nora pointed to the small white polar bear wearing the blue scarf he'd noticed moments ago.
"That one," she said, deciding for him. "He looks scholarly."
The booth operator plucked the polar bear from its perch and handed it to Victor with a grin and a theatrical little bow. Victor accepted it with both hands like it was something delicate, then turned and held it out to Nora, the shy smile on his face unmistakable.
"For your dorm room?" he asked.
"For our memories," Nora corrected gently, and something in Victor's expression shifted. Softer, more hopeful. The way he looked at her then, like she'd just given him something precious instead of the other way around, made her chest tighten with an emotion she wasn't quite ready to name.
Victor let out a quiet breath, the kind that fogged faintly in the cold and carried more than just air. For a beat, neither of them moved. Around them, the celebrations carried on (laughter, music, the clink of mugs and the crunch of boots on snow) but it all felt softened, like they were wrapped in something just slightly apart from the noise.
"Shall we?" he asked, his voice low, offering Nora his arm.
Nora nodded and accepted, this time allowing Victor to lead the way.
They drifted away from the bright booths and crowded paths, moving without hurry through the glow of hanging lights and falling snow, until the noise faded to a hush and the steps of the old library came into view, away from the main crowd but still within the glow of the festival lights. Nora took a seat on the stone steps, the polar bear tucked against her side, and Victor settled beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne, something clean and understated that suited him perfectly.
"Thank you," Nora said softly, turning slightly to look at him. "For dinner, for this... for being patient with me. And with all my baggage."
Victor's expression didn't change, but his voice held quiet sincerity. "Thank you for trusting me with it."
They sat together in comfortable silence, watching students laugh and chase each other through the snow. Around them, the ordinary magic of human connection played out against the backdrop of winter lights. Nora found herself stealing glances at Victor, noting the way the cold had reddened the tips of his ears, how he kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking, as if he couldn't quite believe she was really there beside him.
When had this happened? When had the shy graduate student who sometimes spilled his coffee become someone she couldn't stop thinking about? Someone whose gentle laugh made her heart skip, whose careful way of listening made her feel heard in a way she hadn't experienced before?
Maybe it was the way he'd never once looked at her with pity, even knowing about her diagnosis. Maybe it was how he'd remembered she liked her own coffee with cream and no sugar after their first meeting. Or maybe it was simply this: sitting beside him in the snow, feeling more like herself than she had in months.
She turned to face Victor, studying his profile in the soft glow of the string lights. His breath came out in small puffs of vapor, and there was something so gentle and earnest about the way he sat there, patient and content, that she felt something shift inside her. A door opening that she'd kept carefully locked since her diagnosis.
She was falling for him. Had been falling, probably, since that first afternoon in The Daily Grind.
The realization should have terrified her, should have sent her running back to the safety of keeping everyone at arm's length. But instead, it felt like coming home.
"Victor?" she said softly.
He turned toward her. "Yes?"
Instead of answering, she leaned forward and kissed him. Gentle but sure, her hand coming up to touch his cheek. For a moment, he went perfectly still with shock and surprise, and then his arms came around her, careful and reverent.
When they broke apart, he was staring at her with wonder in his eyes.
"Oh," he said softly, then immediately began to pull back, his cheeks flushed bright red. "I... Nora, I'm sorry, I should have... are you sure you meant to..." He was stumbling over his words, that familiar flush creeping up his neck whenever he was embarrassed. "I mean, someone like you could have anyone, and I'm just..."
"Victor."
"…not good at this sort of thing, and with your condition, you..."
"Victor." Nora reached for his hand, stopping his nervous retreat. "Look at me."
He did, though he looked like he might bolt at any second.
"Too forward?" she asked, echoing their earlier conversation, trying to lighten the moment.
He let out a shaky breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Not nearly forward enough," he murmured, but there was still uncertainty in his voice, as if he couldn't quite believe that this was really happening to him.
So Nora kissed him again, properly this time, until that worried crease between his brows smoothed away, and Victor stopped trying to find reasons why she shouldn't want him. When they finally broke apart, the winter carnival was still glowing around them, and the future stretched out like a promise they both wanted to believe in.
They sat there a while longer, saying nothing, just letting the cold settle around them and the warmth settle between them. There was no plan yet for what came next, no timeline. Just the quiet certainty of something new beginning.
They were married the following June, two weeks after graduation. It was a small ceremony in the university chapel, with Victor's advisor and a few close friends as witnesses. Nora wore a simple white dress she'd found at a vintage shop, something that moved with her when she walked, that reminded her of dancing. Victor wore his best suit and a nervous smile that didn't fade until she'd said, "I do."
The reception was held at The Daily Grind, which Joe had closed for the afternoon as a wedding gift. It was perfect in its simplicity: coffee and cake, string quartet music provided by students from the music department, and the comfortable familiarity of a place that had brought them together.
"No regrets?" Nora asked as they swayed to a slow song in the space between the counter and the tables.
"None, my darling," Victor replied, his arms tightening around her. "You?"
"Ask me in fifty years."
"I intend to."
They honeymooned in Germany, visiting Victor's family. Nora had been nervous to meet his parents, but they welcomed her with warmth that surprised her. His mother was particularly charmed by Nora's clumsy attempts to learn German and her willingness to help arrange the preserves and cured meats for the market stall she operated. Victor's father showed her Victor's childhood workshop in their basement, a tiny space where he'd learned to fix things with patient, methodical care.
"He was always so serious," his mother told Nora over coffee in their modest kitchen, her English careful but kind. "Even as a boy, always thinking, always trying to understand how things work. We worried he would disappear into his books and forget about the real world."
"She's good for you," his father said quietly to Victor as they watched Nora help his mother cook dinner in the kitchen. "Someone who won't let you forget to live, son."
Victor's smile was small, almost bashful. "I rather think so too," he murmured.
They returned to Gotham as newlyweds, moving into a small apartment near the university where Victor had accepted a tenure-track position. Nora found a job teaching dance to children at a community center in the East End. The experimental treatments were working; her symptoms had stabilized, and some days she felt almost normal.
For the first two years, they were simply happy.
Victor threw himself into his university research with renewed purpose, publishing papers on cryogenic preservation and cellular biology that caught attention throughout Gotham's scientific community. But it wasn't until Ferris Boyle, CEO of GothCorp, attended one of Victor's presentations that everything changed.
"Fascinating work, Dr. Fries," Ferris Boyle had said after the presentation ended, his smile sharp and calculating. "We should discuss bringing your research under GothCorp's umbrella. Much better funding, state-of-the-art facilities. Think of what you could accomplish."
Victor came home that night buzzing with excitement about the offer, the resources, the laboratory space, the chance to really make a difference. Nora was happy for him, though something about Ferris Boyle's oily charm had set her teeth on edge when she'd met him at the faculty mixer.
Within months, Victor had transitioned to GothCorp, working on advanced preservation techniques that he believed could revolutionize medicine. He'd come home talking about breakthrough research, corporate backing, and the recognition he was getting in the field. But Nora knew his real motivation: finding ways to buy her more time, better time.
She flourished in her teaching role, bringing joy and movement to children who had little of either in their lives. She developed innovative therapy programs that combined dance with physical rehabilitation, work that quickly caught the attention of Gotham's medical community.
"I never thought I could have this," Nora told Victor one evening as they sat outside on their small balcony, watching the sun set over Gotham's skyline. "A normal life. A future. Someone who loves me not despite my illness, but including it."
Victor turned toward Nora slightly, one arm draped along the back of her chair, the other cradling a chipped mug of hot cocoa. He didn't rush to speak. He rarely did. "It's not despite or including, Nora," he said at last, his voice quiet but fierce. "I love you. There's no condition or caveat. No part of you that isn't worth loving."
Nora let out a shaky laugh. "Even when it gets worse? Because it will, Victor. The treatments won't work forever. You know that better than anyone."
He didn't flinch. Didn't try to reassure her with empty promises. "I know." His voice caught, just for a moment. "And I hate that I know. I hate that I can't stop time or reverse it or tear this thing out of you with my bare hands. I'd do anything to save you, Nora. You must understand that. I won't let you die."
Nora turned to look at him. There was something in her husband's expression, something just under the surface. A tightness around his eyes. A haunted kind of knowing. He'd been reading research papers deep into the night, making calls to colleagues, disappearing into the lab for hours. She'd thought at first it was just passion for his work. But it wasn't.
"I don't want to live in a world where you're not in it, Nora," Victor said simply. "I won't. So I'm going to find a way. I don't care what it costs me or how long it takes."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and waiting.
"You don't have to do this by yourself," Nora said quietly.
He shook his head. "Don't worry about me. Let me worry about you instead."
The thing that scared her most was how easily she trusted him. How much she wanted to let him carry everything. She kissed him then, soft and careful. When she pulled back, his eyes were still closed, like he was trying to hold onto the moment.
"I'm scared," she whispered against his forehead.
"I know," he said, and didn't tell her not to be.
The first sign that something was wrong came during their third winter as a married couple. Nora was demonstrating a simple ballet combination to her class when her left leg gave out, sending her tumbling to the studio floor in an ungraceful heap.
"Mrs. Fries!" One of her students, a ten-year-old named Maria, rushed to help her up. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, sweetheart. Just clumsy today." But Nora's heart was racing, and not from the fall. The tremors had been getting worse again, and now this. The treatments that had given her two precious years of stability were beginning to fail.
She didn't tell Victor about the fall. Not that day, or the next. Nora told herself it was an isolated incident, stress-related, nothing to worry about. But the episodes continued: balance problems, increased tremors, moments of confusion that left her disoriented and afraid.
By spring, she could no longer hide it.
"The gene therapy appears to have reached its limit," Dr. Collins explained during what would be their last hopeful appointment. "We've seen this in some patients; the body eventually develops resistance. The progression typically accelerates after that point."
"Treatment options?" Victor's voice was carefully controlled, but Nora could see the panic in his eyes.
"Limited. We can try adjusting the medication regimen, but honestly, we're looking at palliative care at this point. Making her as comfortable as possible for whatever time remains."
"How long?" Nora asked.
"Difficult to say. With aggressive progression, maybe a year. Maybe less."
The drive home was silent. Nora stared out the window at a world that suddenly seemed fragile, temporary, watching Victor grip the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity.
"We'll figure this out," Victor said finally.
"Victor..."
"No. We're not giving up. There have to be other approaches, other treatments. I'll contact every researcher in the field if I have to."
"And if there's nothing?"
"Then I'll develop something myself."
The obsession began slowly. Victor threw himself into research with an intensity that frightened Nora, working eighteen-hour days in his laboratory, exploring theoretical approaches that existed at the margins of legitimate science. He barely slept, rarely ate, and spoke only of cells and preservation and buying time.
Meanwhile, Nora's condition deteriorated with heartbreaking speed. Within months, she needed a cane to walk. Her speech became slurred, then difficult to understand. Her hands shook constantly, making even simple tasks impossible. Only her wedding band remained steady, a plain band of white gold from the happiest day of her life. But the cruelest aspect was that her mind remained clear, trapped inside a body that was systematically betraying her.
"Victor? What are you working on down there?" she managed to ask one evening, her words badly slurred but still understandable to someone who loved her.
"Research. Nothing you need to worry about."
"Don't lie to me, Victor. Not now."
He couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm going to save you."
"Look at me." She waited until he lifted his gaze to hers. "I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of what trying to save me is doing to you."
"I can't lose you."
"You're losing yourself."
"That doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
But Victor was beyond reason, beyond anything except the singular purpose that had consumed his soul. If he couldn't cure her disease, he could arrest it entirely. Cryogenic preservation: suspending her biological processes until medical science advanced enough to heal her. It was brilliant. It was desperate. It was completely insane.
As Nora's condition worsened, as her time ran short, it began to seem like their only hope.
The laboratory Victor built in their basement was a marvel of desperation and genius. Cryogenic equipment salvaged from his university research, modified beyond recognition. Temperature controls that could reach absolute zero. A preservation chamber designed to maintain a single human body in perfect stasis. When Nora could no longer speak, when her eyes held only fragments of recognition, Victor made his choice. He carried her to the basement laboratory he'd built, settling her gently into the preservation chamber that represented their only hope.
"I'm going to save you, Nora," he whispered as the cooling process began. "I'm going to stop time itself until I can bring you back."
And now here she was, consciousness fading as the cold claimed her. In those final moments of awareness, she wasn't thinking about the disease that had destroyed her body, or the tragedy that was about to consume the man she loved. She was thinking about that first afternoon in The Daily Grind, when a shy grad student had stumbled over his coffee order, and how a single moment of human connection had led them both to this impossible choice between love and letting go.
The preservation chamber sealed with a soft hiss. The cold came quickly, gentler than she imagined. More like sinking than dying. Her breath stilled. Her pulse vanished.
But her mind...
Her mind didn't let go. Not at first.
She could feel the air vanish from her lungs. Feel the stillness wrap around her bones. But in the dark behind her eyes, she still was.
A flicker of thought. A memory of movement. The echo of a name: Victor.
I'm still here.
And then even that began to freeze.