From the first touch of frost in late September to the glacial heart of January, the city of Gotham sullenly wrapped herself in snow and ice. Under the cold beauty of the winter season, only the deepest, darkest of hearts survived, biding time and waiting for spring.

Gloria McKenna, The Bruce Wayne Story

Maxine Gibson hated the cold. Winter kept her shivering, kept her cooped up or wrapped up or tensed up in ways she didn't want to think about. Case in point: Terry McGinnis was looking good and Max was annoyed that she was noticing it again. Going there was No-No Land in capital letters, at least for now. Dana was practically a sister, and Max wasn't about to blow a friendship even if Terry did have great eyes and a killer butt. Better to keep smiling and let the erotic dreams do their haunting late in the night. In the cold.

Max sighed, pulling her thoughts away from the never to be and back to the here and now: the Gotham Art Museum, Pfaltzanger Exhibit, a prime sight for a run-in with the Jokerz. As she leaned over the rail on the upper level, she turned her attention back to the solid black frame of Bruce Wayne in the center of the room and tried not to let her mind wander again. It was difficult. The Museum was crowded with interesting guests, and some truly bizarre artwork. Most of the Pfaltzanger pieces seemed to center on the theme of erotica as filtered through death, and Max wondered how many different drugs the artist needed to suck down to twist metal into these shapes. Her only smile came in seeing Wayne's stony expression reflected on some of the shiny black lacquered surfaces. She liked the irony of the image--a perfect metaphor for the man himself. Tortured within, impassive without. A click in her ear made her jump.

"You there?" the radio hummed and she turned the volume down.

"Yep. I don't think your boss is too thrilled by Pfaltzanger's knickknacks, though."

"I'm not surprised. It's all about death and sex--in the last twenty years the old man's seen too much of one and not enough of the other," Terry cynically commented. Max giggled.

"So *you* say--ever since that Lazarus pit, he's looking pretty good to me these days." And he was, Max had to admit. With those shoulders, Wayne could still walk into a room and own it.

"Limited time offer, " Terry replied, a touch of sadness in his voice. "Told me so himself."

"Then he should be gettin' biz-zay before the warranty runs out."

Terry snorted. "With who? You?"

"Why not?" Max shot back, both amused and annoyed. "Hey, I know quality when I see it--"

"When you two are done speculating on my sex life, you might want to see who's come in the door . . ." Wayne's deep and oh-so-dry voice cut in.

Guiltily Max glanced up in time to see a swaggering parade of Jokerz saunter into the museum. They fanned out strategically, moving among the nervous guests in an organized fashion that confirmed suspicions that someone was directing them.

"Looks like your guess was right--somebody sent in the clowns," Terry observed.

"It wasn't a guess," Wayne corrected. Max watched as he braced himself, gripping his cane. She tensed.

"It's showtime--"

*** *** ***

In the end, Max had to admit that the old man was good. He had taken out three of them on his own, and by the time the police led the rest of the Jokerz out to the waiting wagon, he stood on the museum steps, impervious to the falling snow, watching. She glanced up at him. The wind had picked up, and the edges of his coat snapped in the gusts.

"That was--"

"--diversionary," the bitterness in his voice said it all. Somewhere above them, Terry was off, trailing the one free Joker in hope of discovering the mastermind and for the moment there was nothing else to be done.

"Let's go," he rumbled impatiently. More snow fell, and Max pulled her jacket closer as he climbed into the driver's seat. The heater felt wonderful. Slowly she pulled out in the post-fiasco traffic, careful to avoid fishtailing. A faint hum told her the partition glass was sliding down.

"Take the back way," he directed. "Along the river."

Max glanced in the mirror uncertainly. The route would be longer and in this weather, tricker. She wasn't afraid, but her concern must have shown; Wayne leaned forward.

"Whoever's directing the Jokerz may have seen tonight's setback."

"You think we'll be followed?" a frisson of fear made her voice squeak.

"Possibly, " Wayne let a small smile touch his mouth. "But not likely if we change routes."

"Gotcha. I just hope you're not in a big hurry to get back," Max grumbled.

The big car moved forward, fighting through the drifts. Max wished she could put on some music, but a quick glance in the rearview killed that thought immediately. Wayne had not put the glass back up. He sat in the darkness, the occasional streetlight passing over him. Max liked the way his eyes glittered, as if he could see things written on the soul.

They drove on, out of the city and into the desolate bluffs over the river. A ferocious gust of wind rocked the car; she counter steered cautiously. Drifts blew across the road and obscured it. Max gritted her teeth.

"Easy," she muttered to herself. Normally the weather didn't spook her, but the low howl of the wind was starting to get under her skin. The car fought her. As she hunched over the steering wheel she heard another louder sound begin to rumble under her feet. Brutal jarring bucked her forward and the car shook violently.

Wayne lunged his upper body through the partition and one big hand grabbed the wheel, steadying it. Max fought the urge to scream as seconds later the car slid to a shuddering stop. She drew in a deep shaky breath. Wayne's arms were around either side of her gripping the wheel, bracing her firmly.

"The axle's broken," Wayne rumbled, as if stopping a car from crashing were an everyday event. Max managed a weak grin, remembering that once upon a time for him it had been. She felt his chin on her shoulder, and could smell his aftershave. Cheval Noir, she dimly recalled.

"Broken?"

"We went over something in the road--probably part of a fallen tree." Wayne released the wheel and ordered, "Put on the brake." He climbed out of the car and opened the hood, but Max could barely see him through the windshield as the snow swirled in thick flurries. She felt the slam of the hood. When he got in again, the wind hissed around him.

"Is it bad?"

"Let's just say it's good that I'm rich," he replied shortly, brushing off the snow. Max reached for her cell phone. Wayne shook his head.

"Don't bother. Even if you could get through, the plows won't roll until morning."

"So we're stuck here?" she demanded. Wayne studied her.

"Looks that way."

Neither said anything more for a moment as they stared at each other through the open chauffeur window. Max finally looked away first and gave a long-suffering sigh.

"That's just great! We'll freeze to death!"

"Not necessarily. Get in the back with me," Wayne rumbled. Startled, Max's dark eyes went wide.

"Thinking of sharing a little body heat?" she meant it to sound cynical and cool, but her voice shook. Wayne merely looked at her. She tried again.

"I mean, aren't you at least going to say something like 'don't be afraid of me?'" Now her words were definitely wavery.

Wayne said nothing. The grim little smile on the corners of his mouth mocked her, and before she could stop herself, Max scrambled, climbing though the partition to tumble into the back seat of the limo. She sat up, trying to justify the heat running through her as anger, but not fully succeeding.

"Glad you could make it," Wayne growled.

"Yeah, well, just don't get any ideas."

"I'm not the one with ideas," Wayne replied. Max blushed, although it was getting too dark to be seen by either of them. She took a breath, deciding that the best defense was a self-righteous offense.

"Look Mr. Wayne, just what are you accusing me of?"

"Overactive hormones, mostly." Came his dry response. Max bit her lips, trying to think of some answer to that and failing. She was bright enough to see the truth of his remark, and shy enough to feel humiliated by it as well. It was unnerving as hell. As the first prickle of tears wet her lids, she felt a handkerchief being pressed in her palm.

"Sorry. I'm not in the habit of making women cry," Wayne intoned softly. Max wiped her eyes soundlessly with the crisp linen, her fingers running over the embroidered initials on the corner. Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Max shifted as far away from him as she could.

"Yeah, well at least you admit I'm a woman," she countered. Outside the wind shook the car with renewed fury, and tiny gusts of cold drifted in.

"I'm old, Max, not blind," Wayne's voice held a note of self- deprecation. "Believe me, I'm well aware of your neglected charms."

She sat up, curiosity and hostility warring within her. Max toyed with the handkerchief, folding and refolding it until she couldn't stand not knowing a moment longer.

"What do you mean, neglected charms?"

Wayne turned his head and she could see his dark outline against the white window. He arched a dark eyebrow.

"When was the last time you had sex, Max?"

She jumped, cheeks flaming crimson, heat radiating so forcefully from her face that she was sure the interior of the car would catch fire. Her full lips opened; nothing came out for a moment but a gasp.

"A year at least. Probably closer to two," Wayne's deep voice mused. "A long time for someone as constantly aroused and frustrated as you are."

"Oh God . . ." Max moaned as her embarrassment expanded exponentially. Her fingers were twisting the handkerchief so tightly it was almost a cord. Wayne sighed.
"It's a tension I'm familiar with."

Neither one of them spoke again for almost an hour. Max didn't dare look at the man sitting next to her. She focused on the snow piling up outside the window, watching the drifts pile up, her body refusing to relax. Gradually she flexed her fingers and rolled her head to loosen up the muscles of her neck. She risked a peek at him.

"I didn't know it showed that much," she muttered in a low voice. Wayne laughed softly.

"Let's just say I have better personal radar than McGinnis."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? You did have the Rep back in the day-- at least that's what the bios say," Max replied, stretching her legs, and wishing that she'd worn thicker leggings. Wayne said nothing, and sensing an opening, she added,
"If it comes down to it, when was the last time *you* had sex, Mr. Wayne?"

There was a long pause, and then--

"With someone else?"

Max burst into giggles, spluttering away the accumulated tension in the unexpected honesty of his reply. Her whole body shook in spasms, and she developed a stitch in her side, but it felt too good to just let it all out. Wayne was no help; every time she was close to recovering, she'd look over and see his dour expression and start another fresh round of laughing. The handkerchief went back to her eyes.

Gradually, she managed to draw a breath and straighten up. She felt warmer, and far less tense for the first time in months. Running a hand through her fine pink hair, she smiled.

"You did that on purpose."
"Possibly."
"And you didn't answer the question, either."

Another pause, then--

"Eight years. Not that I'm keeping track," he replied shortly. Max shook her head in empathy.

"Yow . . . and I thought I had it bad," she replied with feeling. A part of her mind wondered why he was telling her something he'd *never* have revealed to Terry. Other parts of her body didn't really have to wonder; she squirmed.

"You do realize how dangerous this situation is, don't you? The two of us trapped like this . . . I mean, it really is possible that . . . we might . . ."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Really?" Max gave a sidelong glance at Wayne, who was doing the same looking at her. She pursed her full lips.

"Are you coming on to me?"
"Not yet."
"Are you thinking about it?"
"Yes."
"Well Jeez, what's stopping you?" she blurted out with amusement.

"Experience," he sighed. For the first time, Max could see a hint of vulnerability on his stern face. He crossed his fingers in front of him and the words came out in one urgent flow.

"There's an emotional price to be paid anytime a line is crossed, Max. Much as I want you here and now, I won't risk leaving you wondering about what the future holds. There is no future for me--all I can do is give you some momentary satisfaction and keep you from doing things you might later regret."

"Like making a pass at Terry?" she whispered sadly. Wayne sighed.

"Believe me, he isn't ready for what you have to offer."

"And you are?" As the words left her mouth, she saw him smile for the first time, a full, soft, knowing smile that sent a hot surge from her throat to between her thighs.

"Oh yes," he rumbled.

Suddenly Max realized she'd scooted closer to him; her body knew all along what her mind was only acknowledging now. This man could and would devote himself to her pleasure; the awareness made her almost giddy.

"But--it's really all up to me," she slowly stated. Wayne nodded, just as slowly.

"Why?"

"Because you deserve the right to a choice," he told her simply. "No one else's needs matter. Yes or no is strictly your domain on this."

She gave a wry laugh. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a hell of a seductive technique?"

"It's been thrown in my face once or twice."

"I bet," Max drew in a deep breath. The night was growing colder, and suddenly she shivered, but not from the temperature. Lightly, impulsively, she reached out a hand and dropped it over his.

"I'm *not* going to call you Mr. Wayne," she warned. He flashed a glint of a smile at her.

"Bruce," He agreed. "Come here."